Caught Beneath The Wheels
by nothing-rhymes-with-ianto
Summary: Justin thinking before the Pink Posse goes to see Hobbes that last time. Cody doesn't understand Justin's fear at all, doesn't understand his motivation for doing any of this.


**So I'm working on This Mess We're In. School started up again last week, so I'm doing a shit ton of work and I dont have a whole lot of time for fics. I promise I am working on that fic, on Alone and Colder, and on Against My Will. The title of this story comes from Runaway Train by Oleander, which is a song that plays in Bang, Bang, You're Dead, a movie that Randy starred in.**

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Cody doesn't understand your fear; getting your head bashed in did a lot more than fuck up your hand. He doesn't seem to understand that you _almost died_, that Brian spent three days waiting to hear whether you were going to make it. He doesn't understand that the craziest, most frightening thing in life is when you experience firsthand the fact that someone can hate you so much that they will actually try to kill you. He doesn't know that it takes _months_ to get over the fear of being touched, the fear of crowds, of loud noises, of red. He doesn't know that the nightmares don't just go away, that whenever you get stressed or upset or too drugged-out, you wake up screaming and have to subject yourself and Brian to the trauma all over again.

And you know Brian is going through that fear all over again, waiting for you in the night, you know you should care that Brian is worried, but you're damaged enough and pissed off enough not to. You know that Brian is scared, afraid of you getting hurt, terrified of getting a phone call in the middle of the night. You are too. Because it terrifies you that Brian is terrified. Because this fear is deep, it's been accumulating for years. Because it holds you both, controls you both. Because holding a gun feels foreign and wrong in your hands, heavy and slick with a darkness you haven't felt in a long time. Because Cody is moving really fast, his violence is escalating. And you're not entirely sure you want to be looking for trouble, provoking guys who might have knives. You're not sure you want to see Hobbes, feel that fear eating away at your gut. Because you know exactly what Hobbes was capable of doing just a few years ago. You don't want to think about what Hobbes might be capable of now, how much stronger his job has made him, what kind of weapons he has at his fingertips.

You don't want to find that out, and you don't want Brian to have to hold your bleeding body again. You don't want to have to see his desperate, broken face if you get injured, even a little bit. You don't want to see the guilt that flashes across Brian's face when the bashing comes up, the worry and sadness when he realizes you're still pissed, still damaged by that bat to the head from years ago. You don't want to hurt him. You don't want to hurt anyone. You don't want to feel that fear again, because it immobilizes you, makes you stop in the middle of whatever you're doing and shrink as small as you can to hide. You don't want to see the sadness in Daphne's eyes or your mother's when they think of what you lost. And you don't want to see the family's face as they pity you. And you don't want to see, or even think, of Brian's expression, his aching eyes, when he thinks back to that night that was probably more horrible for him than it was for you.

See, what Cody doesn't understand, is that the bashing didn't just affect you, the way his tormentors only affected him. The bashing affected your mother, who had to sit in the hospital and wait for you. The bashing affected your sister, who didn't understand why you were so scared at the time, you was afraid of you because you screamed at her the first night you were home, and that freaked her out enough that she avoided you for weeks. The bashing affected Daphne, who went to come find you in the parking garage after and instead had found Brian, hysterical, screaming and crying, holding your bloody body. The bashing affected Brian, who had to watch helplessly as you fell to the ground, who stayed with you and felt your blood, your life, flowing over his hands, who felt horrible guilt at the fact that he couldn't get to you in time, who helped you get your life back after, who looks at you with worry and sometimes fear when he thinks you might leave again, who is more frightened of you getting hurt again than anything else.

So the fear there isn't just yours, it's Brian's and your mom's and Daphne's and the family's. You're scared shitless, but you also feel the need to fight back, to face this head on and get over it and maybe make it better. You realize that you're doing what you have to, for you, but you're also doing what you have to, for Brian. Because you can see the guilt in his eyes when he sees your hand shake, the terror painting his face when he wakes you from a nightmare and holds you close, desperate to feel you alive and warm in his arms. You know there are parts of him more damaged than you, because he remembers the entire night, and he can't ever forget. So you square your shoulders and tell yourself that you're doing this for him, for both of you, so that the two of you can sleep easier at night. So that you don't have to worry when you walk down a crowded street, or turn down an alley at night. So that Brian doesn't have to look at you in the frightened, frantic way he does sometimes when he thinks you don't see. So that the two of you can at least try to move on from the one thing that nearly killed both of you.


End file.
